


Lay with me forever and ever (and even after that)

by Sipsthytea



Series: Best bois Billy and Steve [7]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Billy Hargrove Deserves Better, Billy Hargrove Loves Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Billy Hargrove Redemption, Billy Hargrove Tries to Be a Better Person, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Character Death, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, I beg you, M/M, Omelas AU, Sad Ending, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, This is sad as shit, but I changed it a but, i hope you enjoy, im so sorry, like I cried while writing this and now you will too, someone please give this man a hug, this was inspired by another work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:59:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23829478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sipsthytea/pseuds/Sipsthytea
Summary: But Billy wasn’t swayed. He eyed it cautiously, “Will it be worth it? Will losing Steve forever be worth it?”The man faltered, hand twitching, “Only you can decide that, Billy. But I will tell you one thing, it makes the pain go away.”His head snapped up, the pain? The constant ache in his heart, the cold that surrounds his home, the lifelessness of the world? It would fix all of that? This little vial?He reached for it, rolling it around his fingers, ghosting a finger over the cork.“Ultimately, should you decide not to use it, throw it away,” he muttered, voice low, distant.“Thank you.”“Don’t thank me, soon enough, you’ll hate me.”Or: After the loss of his boyfriend, Billy gets a second chance by a mysterious man in a mysterious motel, but is it worth it?
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Best bois Billy and Steve [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686469
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Lay with me forever and ever (and even after that)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome!
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this, it was inspired by another fic, which is really good. You should definitely check it out. “Around the World and Back again,” is the name of the fic, it’s super good:)
> 
> Enough of me talking, ENJOY :))

Billy wanted to scream. The deafening silence of the waiting room surrounded him, put him on edge. The empty walls seemed to close in on him, his heart rammed against his rib cage. Fingers fidgeting at his sides, pulling at a loose thread from his shirt, a thread that Steve said he should fix, a thread that he really should fix. 

The lights flickered above him; their artificial buzz was quiet but loud enough to make his head spin. The room smelled of hand sanitizer and tears, sadness and worry, death and life. 

The Californian felt as if he was suffocating, caught in the grief, in the weight on his shoulders. To his right, Nancy paced, lifting a hand to her mouth, pulling at the skin of her lips. 

He had half a mind to push her from the waiting room, to shove her out the doors and spit at her feet. That bitch, she was the one who broke Steve. And she had the audacity, the blatant gall to bring Jonathan. It was so pathetic that Billy could laugh, but he couldn’t.

He didn’t know how to laugh when the sun was lying motionless on a gurney somewhere. He didn’t know how to smile when the light was fading away so fast and the darkness was consuming him again. He didn’t know how to feel when the sharp shriek of his childhood rung in his ears, how that shriek drowned out the beauty, the happiness of Steve Harrington. 

The rug rats came too, sat in the far corner, Dustin was hyper-ventilating, El was in tears, Max folded away in a chair, Sinclair and Mike doing their best to stop the tears. That Byers kid, he kind of stood there, sad and distant, unsure of how to express it. 

Billy, of course, had no fucking clue on how to console them. He didn’t know what he should do, what he should say. The words or reassurance sat heavy on his tongue; awkwardness made his movements jerky. He wasn’t sure how he could convince these kids he was ok when he couldn’t believe it himself. 

It was Max who came up to him, head low, chin tucked into her chest, she pressed herself into his chest. Face wet with tears, shoulders shaking with sobs, wrapping her arms around his middle, clinging to him. He stood there for a moment, unsure, but as soon as he hears her cries, he enveloped her, pressing soft kisses to her hair, stroking it awkwardly. 

He did his best to mimic Steve, haphazardly coping the older boy, doing his best to settle her down. It seemed to work, her sobs quieting down to short sniffles. 

Soon, another head pressed against his side, it was Dustin. Billy wanted to tense up, to push the teen away, but he opened his arms once more. Running a hand down his back, thumbs drawing circles into his spine. Then El came over, then, Will, then Sinclair, then Mike. 

Eventually, he was met with a swarm of children, but not just any children. Steve’s children. So, the young man did his best to calm them, hands alternating from hair to backs, from arms to shoulders. His shirt grew damp, sticking to his abdomen. He’d let these kids have their moment, they deserved it. 

Nancy and Jonathan eyed him, but he thought nothing of it. In his opinion, the two could really fuck off, honestly. Sadly, they didn’t. 

He flinched at the sound of the emergency doors being thrown open, a wild-looking Hopper and Joyce rushing in. The adults briskly walked over to Billy, mouths spewing with questions, but they paused, seeing the scene before them. 

It was a doctor stepping into the blank room that caused Billy to push them off, “Family of Harrington, Steve?”

Quickly, they all ran up to the woman, Billy stumbling over his own feet, “That’s me- uh...us.”

With a sympathetic smile, she eyed the group, “My name is Dr. Armani Cortez,” she responded, before looking up at Hopper and Joyce, “Are you two his parents?”

They quickly shook their head, “No-no,” Hopper said, “We just...well, we just act like it sometimes.”

Again, she flashed them a sympathetic smile, “That’s fine, are his parents on their way? I would like to discuss this with them present.”

“They’re not here, never are,” Billy interjected, frustrated, “We are his family.”

“Of course,” she said, “Well, as you know, the accident was a very bad one,” she eyed the children and stopped. 

“May I please speak to the adults...only…?”

Jonathan, surprisingly, herded them all away, Nancy following him. The doctor turned to them, leading them to a smaller waiting room. 

Joyce and Hopper say, but Billy couldn’t bring himself to, not with Steve in an unknown state. 

“Well,” she said finally, “As you may know, the accident was a severe one, Steven hit the pavement with enough force to cause a few fractures to his skull, and because of the severe trauma his brain suffered he is what we call ‘Gorked.’ He is...and I am trying to put this as lightly as possible, but Steven doesn’t have any higher brain function.”

Joyce and Hopper gaped at each other, a hand coming up to cover their mouth, but Billy didn’t understand. 

“What do you mean no ‘higher brain function’?”

The doctor paused before answering, “What I mean is that Steven has no brain function.”

“He’s dead?!”

She reached out, shaking her head, “No! He’s very much alive, he has a pulse, he has a heartbeat, he is breathing-”

Billy cuts her off, “So he’s fine.”

This time, it’s Hopper who interjects, placing a calming hand on his shoulder which he dodges, “Is he fine or not, Doctor?”

She looks at him sadly and he despises it. He doesn’t need her pity, he sure as hell doesn’t want it, he wants to know if Steve is ok. But she just turns to the adults, “Will you please give us a moment?”

The two agree, silently stepping out of the room. Leaving the doctor with an agitated Billy, “What’s your name?” 

He clicks his tongue, before leaning towards her, “How is that relevant? You’re wasting time, go make sure Steve’s ok.”

“I’m trying. Now, what’s your name?”

“Billy, Billy Hargrove,” he mutters, crossing his arms, moving away from her. 

“Well, Mr. Hargrove-”

“Just Billy, my old man’s Mr. Hargrove.”

“-Billy, you and Steven were very close, weren’t you?”

He narrows his eyes at her, frustration filling him once more, “So what if I was? Will you tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Billy, Steve’s brain is no longer working,” she explains, “He does have a heartbeat, and he is breathing, but legally, he is dead.”

The Californian stares at her, his chest becoming tight, “What?”

“He has no brain function, and if he doesn’t wake up in the next 6 hours, I will have to declare him braindead.”

Tears sting his eyes, he collapses in his chair, “W-What?”

“Billy, I am so sorry, I know that this is a lot to take in, but Steven still has 6 hours, he may wake up,” she soothes, eyes shining with sadness. 

He nods, “He will. Steve is a lot of things, but he isn’t a quitter, he’ll wake up.”

The doctor just shoots him another sympathetic smile, “I’m sure he is.”

****

He never woke up. 

Steve Harrington never woke up. 

He left Billy alone. He left Billy a former shell of himself, empty and vacant, eyes hollow and lifeless. The once cocky exterior of the former bad boy completely erased, replaced with a duller, more somber Billy. The blonde’s life became a charade of cigarettes and booze, work and anger, sadness and self-pity. 

Naturally, the others worried about him, Max in particular. She hated the sight of her brother, holed up in their old apartment, shoving his former boyfriend’s things in a room. She hated what his life became a loop of work, sleep, and sadness. The young girl knew that Steve wouldn’t have wanted this, but she was at a loss. 

Her brother refused to go out, declining every one of her invitations, shooting down each and every chance of getting his old life back. 

But much to her relief, he finally accepted her offer to go to El’s birthday part, while annoyed that it took place across town, he did agree to go. His presence would be short and sweet, but he’d still go. 

As he drove there, the smooth purr of his Camaro soothing his nerves, the wind flying in his hair, the sun shining brightly from above; it reminded him of the good days. 

It reminded him of the times when he and Steve planned to go to California, where they swore their hearts to one another, the days when Billy didn’t hate waking up. When he didn’t hate listening to ABBA because Steve loved them, when the smell of hairspray didn’t bring tears to his eyes, when he wasn’t angered at the sight of a picture of the brunette. 

He shook those thoughts away, reaching for a cigarette in his glove box. As he fished one out, making quick work of lighting it, he took a deep puff. The sweet burn of the smoke filling his lungs, washing a small haze over his pain. The small object seemed to be the only constant in his life, a presence that he craved. He often found himself rolling an unlit cigarette between his fingers at all times, needing the comfort it brought. 

He drove on, eyes lazily tracing the vast expanse of barren land. Hawkins was still a shithole, even after all these years. But it was a shithole that Steve loved, so they stayed. 

A huff of laughter made its way past the Californian’s lips, a bright memory of Steve crossing his mind, but he quickly pressed it away, repressing it to the back of his mind. 

However, even though he hated the scenery, a place caught his eye. It was all alone, a small empty looking motel. There was nothing special about it, the colors were dull, but the sign shone brightly, a stark contrast to the building itself. 

The sign read, “Omelas.”

He eyed it curiously, a strange feeling urging him to enter inside, drawing him to the drab looking motel. He quietly pulled into the lot, finding that his car was the only there. As he stepped out, he crushed the cigarette beneath his foot, hearing the low hiss fill his ears. 

Billy approached the building, nearing a faded greed door, turning the golden knob and stepping inside. It looked like an average motel in this shitty town, run-down, deserted, ugly as hell. He scoffed, thinking himself silly for going out of his way to come here. 

But a voice erupted from behind him, “Can I help you, young man?”

Billy turned quickly, slightly startled at the voice, “Um, no, no, I was just on my way out.”

As he approached the door, the voice spoke again, “But why did you come here?”

Confusion filled Billy, “I was just curious to see what this place is, but now I see that it’s a shithole run by a creepy ass guy.”

The man simply laughed, a deep chuckle, “Is that so?”

With a roll of his eyes, Billy opened the door, stepping out only to hear the man speak again, “Why are you so sad?”

This caught his attention, anger filling him, “What?”

“I asked why you were so sad.”

The young man scoffed, swiftly walking towards the man, tongue pressing against this cheek, “You’ve got some nerve, you don’t even know me.”

“But I know you’re sad,” he deadpanned, lifting his head for the first time, and Billy froze, catching sight of his face, he was young, older than Billy, but still young, his raven hair was neatly swept back, but it was his eyes that unnerved the Californian. The man’s eyes were ancient-looking, a cold charcoal gray that peered directly into Billy’s soul. 

“And I know that you’re in pain,” he continued, voice cool, “So, I ask, why is that?”

For some reason, Billy felt small, a feeling he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager, since he was trapped under Neil’s roof. “None of your damn business.”

The man chuckled once more, gray eyes staring straight into the sea of Billy’s soul, “You lost someone, didn’t you?” 

The blonde charged forward, hands reaching out to grip at the man’s shirt, tugging him up by his collar, “I said it doesn’t concern you.”

“You loved him,” the man whispered, his voice soft, almost sympathetic. 

It made Billy wretch, drawing a fist, “Shut the hell up.”

“He loved you,” Billy’s fist trembled, anger crumbling into sadness. 

“I said, shut the hell up!”

“You’re so sad.”

“I’ll kick your ass!” Billy threatened, eyes filling with tears, body shaking, mind clouding over with memories of that fucking hospital room. 

“Losing Steve is what’s making you so sad, isn’t it, Billy?”

The Californian snapped his head up, confusion morphing his features from angry to a blank stare, “H-How…?”

“Am I right?” He questioned, gingerly removing the hand of the blonde, rising from his chair, arms stretching out to keep Billy steady. 

Billy hadn’t even realized that he was swaying, he hadn’t even realized that he was crying, but hot tears streamed down his face regardless, “...Yes…”

He pressed something into Billy’s palm, a small vial, it was filled with a glowing pink liquid, “Take this before you go to bed, think of him as you try to fall asleep.”

Billy nodded along, walking with the man as he guided the young man out of the motel, gently shutting the door behind them. The man eased Billy into his car, once again repeating the instructions. 

He drove straight home, the party a thing of the past. He was still trembling, the bright pink vial sitting to his right, rolling around on the passenger seat. Every so often, he’d sneak a peek at it, unsure of what it would do, unsure of why he was trusting the man from Omelas. 

Once he arrived home, he hurriedly unlocked the door Pressing himself against the cool wood, he stared at the vial in his hand, it was luminescent almost. The logical side of him told him to do more research, to go bring it to Robin, a chemical engineering major, to do anything but drink it. And yet, he curled on his bed, stripped of his jeans and jacket, desperately clinging to one of Steve’s old hoodies. 

It smelled like him, chamomile and hairspray, wonderful chamomile and hairspray. 

He pressed it close to his chest, almost as if he was trying to merge it with his body, eyes slipping shut. With a breath, he thumbed the vial open, staring into the liquid, pausing. But the need to see Steve grew so strong, it grew too strong. 

He gulped it down; the liquid was tasteless; it didn’t burn, nor did it tingle, it just trickled down his throat. 

Billy stared at the empty vial in his hand, closing his hand around it with a small final mutter of, “Steve…”

****

Billy awoke the next morning, sunlight streaming in from his windows, dancing across his skin. A groan lifted itself from his throat, eyes straining to readjust to the light. Disappointment and anger raced through him. Nothing happened, and he believed the crap the man spewed. 

Turning around, he was met with a warm hand brushing against his own, large brown eyes staring back at him, “Finally, you were out like a light.”

He sprung to life, eyes widening, stepping away from the man on his bed, stepping cautiously against a wall. 

“What? I scare you?” He teased, a hand coming up to brush his hair from his face gently, “I scared the Billy Hargrove? Me? Mr. ‘Don’t cream your pants’ Hargrove-”

Billy cut him off, drawing his face close for a kiss, connecting their lips hastily. Hands cupping the man’s face, “Steve?” He muttered. 

His mind was racing, thrumming with emotions, tears welled in his eyes. 

“Billy? Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Steve stressed, warm eyes searching Billy’s, concern filling them. 

The Californian stared at him, eyes trailing every feature of Steve. The slightly messy upturn of his hair, the warmth in his eyes, the smallest hint of a scar running down his eyebrow, the fullness of his lips, his long eyelashes, everything. He drank every part of Steve Harrington in. 

“I - I’m fine,” he whispered, pressing himself to the brunette’s chest, ear straining to hear his heartbeat. 

But he hears it, it was real; it was there; he was there. 

“Bill, you’re scaring me,” Steve breathed, hands gently running through the blonde’s curls, “Is everything ok? Have a bad dream?”

“No,” Billy answered honestly, pulling away to press another kiss to the brunette’s cheeks, “I’m ok, and I think I had the best dream of my life.”

Steve smiled down at him, cheeks pulling back to reveal his radiant smile. His smile full of starlight, that made Billy’s heart sing, that made his insides flush with warmth, that made him fall deeper in love with the man. 

“I just want to lie here with you, Steve,” he whispered. 

“Ok,” Steve answered, his voice bright and loving, “We’ll lay here forever and ever, and even after that.”

Billy closed his eyes, dissolving into the surrounding warmth, dissolving into the starlight of Steve Harrington, dissolving into his warm touch. He was home; surrounded by love and chamomile, chamomile and hairspray. Surrounded by midnight conversations, surrounded by California waters and Hawkins air, surrounded by Bambi-eyes, he was surrounded by the one thing in this would he’d give anything to see again; he was surrounded by Steve Harrington.

He awoke again. This time, he felt sluggish, tired. His mind was fuzzy and dazed, the world around him spinning, causing him to wobble slightly as he sat up. Immediately he turned, hand reaching out only to be met with cold, empty bed sheets. 

He screwed his eyes closed, tears threatening to make their way to the surface, disappointment washing over him. He stood, realizing that he was still clutching Steve’s hoodie. A wave of emotion passed through him again. 

He sighed, deep and exasperated, face heavy. It felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. 

As he readied himself for the day, picking up his phone to a wide variety of text messages, he opened one from Max. they young girl asking where he was. He quickly responded that he felt sick, so he stayed home. 

Shutting his phone off, a glint caught his eye. It was the vial, sitting empty on his nightstand. 

He reached for it, a surge rocking through him; he wanted more; he needed more. 

He wasn’t ready to let go of Steve yet. 

As he continued to get ready, pocketing his keys and phone, he realized something.

Billy couldn’t remember first meeting Steve. 

****

The next Billy raced to that motel, pulling up haphazardly into the empty lot. A strange wind blowing around him as he entered the run-down building, eyes searching wildly for the man.

He spotted him, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixated expectantly on the door, welcoming Billy in with a monotone voice, “Welcome back.”

“Why can’t I remember when I first met Steve?” He demanded, stalking up to the counter, slamming the vial down on the glass.

“It’s a side effect of the liquid,” his ancient eyes locked on Billy’s, “I’m guessing you also feel tired?”

Billy nodded, “That’s because the ‘dream’ you had, isn’t really a dream,” he sighed, “It’s more like a projection of yourself, altering the things around you to help you see the thing, or person, you want the most. In your case, it was Steve.”

Questions still swam in Billy’s mind, “Was–was none of that real?”

“It was very much real, as in, if you were stuck by something, you’d feel the pain,” He corrected, “But, Steve himself wasn’t real, well, not necessarily. It’s a very long and complicated process.”

The man reached out for the empty bottle, gingerly taking it and placing it into a box. The tube clinking down with a small thunk.

“For every dream you have, you’ll lose a memory of that person, mostly small memories, but still memories,” He continued, voice even and calm, eyes searching into Billy’s soul once more.

“Was it worth it?” The man questioned, voice soft, kind even.

“Yes,” Billy answered immediately, eyes locking on the mans, “It was, and I’d do it over and over again, I’d meet him for the first time again if I could. I just–I’m not ready to live without him.”

A wave of emotion washed over the young man, sea-blue eyes turning glassy and distant.

The man reached over, placing a calming hand on the Californian’s shoulder, “I know how you feel,” he admitted, “I lost my two twin boys, years ago,” a fond smile pulled at his lips, “They were crazy, complete opposites. One was rambunctious and loud, misbehaved, the other, he was shy, quiet, and smart. They were attached at the hip, those two.”

He trailed off, calm facade becoming somber, “I lost them in an accident, and I couldn’t bear it. I separated from my wife, left her alone. And I came here, I was just like you, Billy. Drowning in pain, in sadness, living my life as a meaningless cycle.”

Billy looked up, surprise passing over his features. Hearing that someone else went through the pain he was going through brought him a sense of comfort. It made him feel a little less alone.

“Here,” the man said, handing him a vial. Within it, a bright blue liquid sloshed around.

“What’s this? Another vial?”

“No,” the man stated firmly, “It’s strong, stronger than the one you took last night.”

He looked up at the raven-haired man, eyes then trailing back down to the bottle in his outstretched hand.

“How are they different?” He questioned, fingers reaching out, almost wrapping around the bottle.

“They make you forget entirely.”

Billy pulled his hand back, wrenching away from the man, “Why would I want to forget him entirely?!”

“This lasts longer, gives you more time,” The man countered, “It will give you more time.”

But Billy wasn’t swayed. He eyed it cautiously, “Will it be worth it? Will losing Steve forever be worth it?”

The man faltered, hand twitching, “Only you can decide that, Billy. But I will tell you one thing, it makes the pain go away.”

His head snapped up, the pain? The constant ache in his heart, the cold that surrounds his home, the lifelessness of the world? It would fix all of that? This little vial?

He reached for it, rolling it around his fingers, ghosting a finger over the cork.

“Ultimately, should you decide not to use it, throw it away,” he muttered, voice low, distant.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, soon enough, you’ll hate me.”

****

The drive back home was a silent one, no radio, no wind, no humming. It was just Billy and the constant scrape of the glass vial. It sat next to him, staring judgingly into his soul. He knew this was selfish, but he couldn’t help it. The desperation and the mourning were winning, the logic and sensibility losing.

It seemed so easy, just drink and forget, let the pain float away. But that’s the problem. Did he want to forget? Was he willing to let years of memories go for a day? Was it worth it?

Selfishly, he told himself, yes, it was. Seeing Steve once more was worth anything and everything. It was worth the air in his lungs and the blood in his veins; it was worth everything.

But the guilt of losing memories still weighed heavily on his mind, the thought of never remembering what Steve looked like when he smiled, or what his laugh sounded like, or those really stupid bucking jokes he’d crack.

It was hard to let go; it was hard to hold the vial in his hand, but even harder to set it down. There had to be something else, some way he’d remember everything, someway he’d keep everything.

And it struck him, there was a way.

Billy devised a plan. 

He rummaged through his things, finally resurfacing with a few notebooks and pens. He quickly got to work scribbling down years and years of emotions and memories. Carefully detailing each date, each kiss, each hug, each first they shared with each other. He etched his memories into the paper, the good and bad, the fights and makeups, the highs and lows. He also wrote about Steve, what he looked like, what he smelled like, what he tasted like, his favorite candle, his favorite food, his favorite show. 

Everything was written, everything he had was written. As he flipped through the pages, he clipped photo’s along with the memories, some were well done, but some weren’t, blurs of colors and lights. It didn’t matter; it didn’t matter because it made up them; it made up their story. 

He also left a few recordings, most held Steve’s voice, or his laughter, or his snore, it just held Steve. 

He eventually worked up the courage to go into the guest room, a room he used to store the brunette’s things after he passed. Slowly and deliberately, he walked through the room labeling each box, each shirt, each small piece of Steve. 

It was hard, harder than he expected it to be, harder than it had any right to be. 

Finally, after hours of preparing, he shuffled the memories, the photos, the jackets, the sweaters, the dried-out roses, he shuffled them into a box. 

Carefully, he placed them on his kitchen counter. Writing atop of it, in big letters, ‘Open’

Now, he was finally ready; he was ready to see Steve again.

Drifting off to sleep was easy enough, the exhaustion settling in as soon as he hit the pillows. However, he did not forget to pull the brunette’s hoodie close to him, gulping down the scent, clearing his head.

Darkness consumed him, but it wasn’t cold, it was warm. It felt like California.

“Billy!”

That sounded like Steve.

“BILLY!” Was that Steve?

Cracking an eye open, he caught a glimpse of the man. Steve loomed over him, a cheeky smile playing on his lips, sunglasses resting halfway on his nose.

“What do you want, Princess?” He questioned, groaning as he sat up, quickly looking around. The grains of sand lined his body, the California sun beamed down on him, clear blue sky with white low-hanging clouds.

Steve huffed beside him, “I was coming to wake you up before the kids buried you, but I think I’ll let them.”

The blonde reached up, pulling the other male down onto the sand, falling flat on his ass. He wrapped his arms around him, pressing him closer, head falling into the juncture of his shoulder and neck.

“You alright, Bill?”

Billy smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to his skin, “Yeah, never better, Princess.”

Again, Steve blushed in his arms, leaning back, resting against Billy. Gently, he intertwined their fingers, running mindless circles on his knuckles.

Max bound up to them, bright red hair tied back in a ponytail, El following closely behind, “Billy! Come on! Let’s go surfing!” She begged.

“Alright, Max,” he smirked, “Let’s show these shitbirds how it’s done.”

The day dissolved into sandcastle contests and races, beach volleyball and surfing, chaste kisses and heated touches. By the end, Billy was surely burned, usually tanned skin now a bright pink. He laughed as Steve scolded him, kindly applying aloe Vera to the burn, pressing a soft kiss to his nose, “Thank you, pretty boy.”

“Always,” Steve promised, brown eyes glistening in the setting sun. The sunset was beautiful, violet and orange dripping into yellow, the colors melting into the deep blue of the sea, but nothing could compare to Steve.

His eyes shined, a starlight smile on his lips, fair skin darkened just a bit, hair tousled by the wind, unbuttoned Hawaii shirt loosely hanging around his shoulders, sunglasses slipping slightly off his nose.

Nothing was as beautiful as Steve Harrington.

“You’re staring,” Steve muttered, eyes still trained on the ever-low sunset.

A breeze passed through us, “Oh, I know.”

He scoffed, gently pushing Billy’s shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice floating carefully through the evening air.

“I love you too,” Steve said, eyes shining once again with starlight, with kindness.

The brunette pulled the blonde close, burrowing his face into the Californian’s chest, cheeks slightly heated, “I love you a lot, Billy.”

“I know, Sweetheart,” he whispered, a hand coming up to gently stroke his hair, “I love you too.”

They dissolved into a fit of laughter, unraveling right there on the Californian beach, the children eyeing them quizzically.

They stayed there, enjoying the cool night breeze until the kids began to complain, “We’re hungry! Feed us!”

With a chuckle Steve rose up, pulling his boyfriend to his feet, placing a small kiss on his nose. He declared that they would be eating at a small pizza joint not too far from here.

“Walk?” Dustin suggested.

The older boys nodded along, no reason to waste Billy’s precious gas.

They gathered their things, wrapping up blankets, balls, and umbrellas, placing them all in Billy’s Camaro.

“One speck of dust, you’re all dead,” he warned, smirking when Steve rolled his eyes.

They began to walk, the teens ahead for the two adults, their hands clasped together.

Steve leaned on Billy’s shoulder, swaying their hands a little as they walked.

“I’m glad I’m finally here,” he admitted, staring at the various small shops that surrounded the beach.

“Me too, Stevie, I’m glad you’re here.”

The water was calm, the distant drag of waves meeting the shoreline. A call of seagulls singing softly through the air. Cool air brushed against his skin; the taste of salt sat on his tongue. He breathed in deeply, the deep musk of the sea settling into his lungs. A sense of nostalgia sank in his bones. Memories washing over him.

Everything was perfect. Warmth spread through him, filling his very being with Starlight, with hope, with happiness, with meaning.

He smiled, but as he turned to his side, Steve was no longer there, having caught up with the kids, beckoning for Billy to catch up. Breaking into a slow jog, he watched as Steve passed the kids, waiting patiently at a stop sign, checking both ways before stepping onto the road.

Why did this seem so familiar?

A loud honk was heard. A car came barreling down the street, running through Steve as it did so. The kids screamed, wrenching back from the horror, but Billy ran forward.

He raced to Steve’s side, surprised to find the Brunette still conscious. Blood seeped from his mouth, cuts and deep jagged tears opening up on his legs, arms, and face.

He reached up with a shaky hand, smearing the blood on Billy’s face, “B-Billy?”

“I’m here, Stevie, I’m here, I-I just need you to hold on,” he begged, turning to the kids demanding they call for help, but they were no longer there.

Confused, he turned to the man in his arms, surprised to find that he was no longer there either. Instead, he stood before Billy, a starlight smile on his face, eyes kind, voice soft, “Billy,” he whispered, “I want you to move on, I need you to move on.”

“S-Stevie…?” He questioned, voice cracking as emotion rose in his throat.

“I want you to know you couldn’t have loved me better, Billy, you couldn’t have done anything,” he said, a gentle hand stroking the Californian’s cheek.

The blonde reached for the hand, pressing it close to his face, “Please don’t leave me, Steve, I’m begging you, please d-don’t leave,”

“I love you, Billy.”

The hand was gone, replaced with empty air, his vision filling with a white room, surrounded by empty walls.

“Steve?!”

Tears and sobs ripped their way from his throat.

“STEVE!”

****

He awoke with a start, eyes snapping open, cheeks wet. He curiously lifted a hand, flinching away from the tears he collected.

He was crying?

A name sat heavily on his tongue, but he didn’t know it, he couldn’t remember it. With a scoff, he turned, met with the smell of Chamomile and hairspray.

“What the fuck?” He wondered aloud, scrunching his nose at the smell, tossing the hoodie it was coming from away.

He slipped his eyes shut, sleep weighing heavy on his mind, but a loud blare awoke him, the sound of his alarm, stretching a handout, and feeling blindly for it on his nightstand, he ran into another object. A small empty tube.

“The hell?”

Quickly discarding it, he stood, groaning as he followed the sound. Confusion wiping all traces of sleep from his system as he stopped a box, his phone buzzing off beside it.

Billy walked towards it, eyes scanning the top suspiciously, “… Open?”

Curiosity was gripping at him, and he lifted the top, eyes widening as he spotted the things inside. Books, photos, a couple of composition notebooks, a dried rose, a sweater, a few rolls of film, and a couple of tapes. But what caught his attention was a small letter, “Billy,” it said.

His eyes quickly scanned the letter, it read:

“This is for Billy Hargrove, this was sent by you, Billy Hargrove. I know it sounds batshit crazy but bare with me. You have an empty feeling in your chest, you don’t know what it is, but it’s there. That emptiness was once filled with a man named, ‘Steve Harrington.’

This is where it’s up to you, asshole.

And I know that right now you think you’re going crazy, but your not shitbird. You sane, but you’ve forgotten the most important part of you.

Look through the notebooks, the photos, the film. Look through it all and fall in love again. Fall in love with this man again, it may seem crazy but that’s how things usually were with Steve.

I can promise you, if you look through this box, you won’t regret it.

In this box, there’s your soul, your heart, your entire being.

In this box is the story of you and Steve Harrington, and I can swear to you now, you’ll never regret opening one of those books.

So, what are you waiting for, dipshit? Open the books.

Reread, relearn, relive our story again.

Fall in love with Steve again, it won’t take long, I should know.

And remember, there was nothing you could’ve done. We...you loved him with everything you had. You couldn’t have loved him any better, and he knew that. How do I know? Well, just trust me on this one. He knows, I can promise you he knows.

Oh, and when you’re done. Go visit that Motel in the middle of nowhere. You’ll see it, you can’t really miss it.

Well, this is where I leave you. From now on, it’s up to you. But trust me, you’ll hate yourself if you let him go. So, open the box. Open the books and fall in love with him again. Open the books and don’t ever let them go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this! 
> 
> I am in need of a beta reader, so, if you’re interested or know someone who is. Please comment down below💕
> 
> I loved writing this! As I said it was inspired by the fic mentioned above, please go check them out:) 
> 
> Thank you all, I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment below stating your thoughts, corrections or things you’d like to read in the future! 
> 
> :))


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